New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1887-08-03
locked the door, and. without pause,
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Wewere obliged to 90. But we came
succeeded in forming a sort Of friend
ship with the old man; we did this for
the sake of the angel, whose face Lucy
was ardently trying to win from heav-.
en- down upon her earthly paper-so
far trying in vain. But no matter
how often we came, we were always
obliged to go first through all the
great dusky rooms below before he
would take us to the chapel; this was
a routine inevitable.
One day, while Lucy was at work. I
asked him if he could describe to me
the pictures on the empty wall below,
OF course not to him calling then.
'empty."
''Most certainly" he replied; and
we went down together. Then began
singular scene. From wall to wall,
from room to room, we went, while,
With no knowledge of art and no en-
thusiasm, he yet described each detail
OF every picture and it's frame with
clear exactness which [ felt to be min
utely accurate. He pointed out this
tint and that fold, this atmosphere and
that interior; he described the portraits
OF a stern old Accolti in armor, and an
other, a child, a dimpled baby, in a
satin gown. so that / actually seemed
to see them. In truth I did see them
all with my minds eye, and see them
now. Up the broad stairway we went
and through the second story; and it
seemed as if a company of soft-sliding
unseen ghosts were with us, and whis-
peringiy following us. It was the most
weird two hours ever spent.
became quite curious about the
old man; wondered what he ate, and
where he slept, and if he Lad any
friends who came to see him. The
vender of lamps could satisfy me upon
two OF these points. Go to market?
old Marco! Oh,no; he never left the
palazzo, night or day. His few and
small provisions, the same through
years, were brought and left at the
inner courtyard door. II, in the mean
time, old Marco did not descend, and
cats appeared, was he, Rafaello, ven
der of lamps, to be held at fault? Man
ifestly not; and none but hardened
souls would assert il, since the honesty
of all his Rafaello's) family was most
clearly established in all that quarter.
Friends? No, old Marco had no friends.
He had son living beside the straw
market; but, what would you! when
there was such a disposition as Mar
co.'s, none could abide it, not even a
son-always with the nobilities' per-
mission.
Once I did see the old mans abode.
lie had taken me up a little, narrow,
concealed stairway, because I had
asked if there were any rooms above;
there, under the great cornice which
cast a shadow over half the street be-
low, there were some small chambers,
and in the smallest of these, mere
cell, there was a narrow pallet-bed and
chair. But from the narrow window
opened a magnificent view. All Flor
ence lay beneath; the Duomo, Giotto's
lovely campanile, the fower-stem
tower Of the Palazzo Vecchio, and, all
around, the violet mountains, and the
beautiful valley of the Arno going west
ward to the sea.
rs this your room. Marco?" I said.
"What magnificent view!"
II am near sighted replied the old
man carelessly; Il cannot see the
view
One day he looked so feeble and i'll
that I was troubled. '.He will die
here some day, all alone, and no one
will know il" said to Lucy ..Let US
try, on the way home, to find that son. y
So our driver took us through the
straw market, and, after some search,
we found our man. He was a maker.
or rather a member, of umbrellas, and
at work in his little shop when our car
riage paused at his door; literally at
his door, because there was no side
walk, and we sat in our carriage and
talked to him easily on his bench with
in. He was small thin man Of fifty,
with bent shoulders and patient face.
Yes, old Marco was his father; but he
seldom saw him. He found it neces-
sary-with their permission Ito keep
steadily at work here at his bench.
Say rather that thou dost not see
him because he will not see thee,'' said
his wife, who was behind in the shadow.
with several children around her.
"Will the most noble ladies believe it?''
she continued, rising and coming for
ward, unable to keep silence, '.Old
Marco will not leave the palace, and
has never therefore even seen the lit
tie ones, lest they should injure-the
innocents!-his pictures, there! His
pictures said I? And all the world
knows that there are no pictures! All.
it is of a stubbornness!''
my father is old; and his fancies.
But he gives us always the half, and
more, of the little he has, began the
mans mild voice.
Say rather that he is mad,n inter-
rupted the woman, Indignantly. What
is the money! ask your nobleness-
to a natural love for his own grand
children?" And, snatching up the
baby who was crawling across the floor,
and calling the others, she disappeared.
her motherly ebullition no doubt for the
moment quite sincere, in spite Of the
money.
Left alone, the umbrella mender
looked at us apologetically, in mild
sl~~-< l.